MAKING SENSE OF IT ALL: NO
by Lee Etscovitz, Ed.D.
One of the last things my father said to me as he lay dying thirty years ago was:
"Just say "Yes." Just say "Yes." He was referring specifically to the fact that I
was scheduled to meet with my doctoral committee for an oral, as opposed to a written,
examination as part of the process for the fulfillment of doctoral degree requirements.
More broadly, however, he was referring to the fact that I was never one to agree
readily to anything. I guess it was not easy being a father (or mother) to me.
Thirty years later I am finally seeing what a life of saying "no" has meant. I have
actually celebrated my attitude, as if somehow saying "no" constitutes a rare achievement.
Witness the poem I wrote some time ago called, of course, "No:"
"No"
is my mountain,
my voyage into space,
where uncharted paths
stubbornly traversed
prove I own the trip
outright.
And then maybe,
just maybe,
like a spring thaw
in winter,
I will say,
"Yes."
It has taken me a lifetime to bring about the spring thaw, but that is the subject
of another discussion. Right now I want to talk about the meaning of my saying "no"
in terms of my life in general and my transgender experience in particular.
For as long as I can remember, which means from the time I was two or three years
old, I lived in a world which I perceived as a danger, not so much to my physical
existence but rather to my sense of self. My perception was based on some fact. My
mother was an extremely insecure person whose very presence told me to protect myself against
disintergration. My father was outright abusive, both verbally and physically, which
served to reinforce the message I received from my mother and which also added the
physical element. So at a very early age I learned to protect myself against an unfriendly
universe, where hugs and words of encouragement were rare at best. I saw people,
my own parents even, as devaluators and destroyers of my life as a person.
In the face of this unfriendly universe, I became angrily stubborn and argumentative,
and annoyingly independent, always fighting, more quietly than noisily, but nevertheless
persistently, for the right to do things my way. Temper tantrums as a child gave
way to the defiance of a teenager which was then replaced by the self-righteousness
of an adult. The anger remained throughout. In the name of authenticity and being
true to myself, I said "no" to life's simplest demands. Being on time, for example,
has always been a big problem for me, because my inner clock wants to ignore the requirements
of life's outer clock. Perhaps being late for the demands of that outer clock has
been a way for me to express some measure of control over time and even people, especially people I perceive as a threat to my inner life.
That control, however, was really a lack of control, both in terms of self-understanding
and in terms of my relationships with people. Ironically, I recreated the world into
which I was born. Wherever I went and whatever I did, my "no" attitude only served to bring about more of the distress my parents represented. My insecurity, fearfulness,
anger, and loneliness persisted, only within a larger life situation involving marriage,
work, and social life. I am not suggesting that there is no place for self-protection, but when that stance becomes all-encompassing, then perhaps something is
just not right.
My transgender feelings have added to my inner unhappiness, but at the same time it
has been my gender struggle which helped me at last to see the meaning of "no" in
my life as a whole. Seen from a transgender perspective, my poem reflects a refusal
to give up something which is as much a part of my very being as my life blood. I did try
for years to bury my transgender feelings, though I did not really have a label for
those feelings at the time. I was finally able to recognize what was bothering me,
which was not so much the transgender feelings themselves but rather my denial of those
feelings. There was no way in the world that I would participate in, that is, say
"yes" to, a denial of my feelings. Saying "no" in that context has meant a lot to
me.
The problem with my fighting for the right to be transgendered is that, until recently,
I have been doing more fighting than enjoying. I am not saying that I have manned
the barricades and been publicly and politically vocal on behalf of transgender rights, but within my inner life I have been more defensive about my gender change than
proud of it. I am only beginning to experience a quiet but sure footed dignity rooted
in self-acceptance and self-integration. Such dignity, at least for me, has been
hard won. It has to be earned, patiently and persistently. Simply saying "no" to my detractors
may give me a sense of self-justification, but it doesn't mean I really feel good
about myself. Putting others down, even if justified, does not mean I am raising
myself up.
For most of my life I have made a mountain out of my need for inner self-preservation.
I have been scaling that mountain and, like Sisyphus, not really getting anywhere.
Even if I can claim that I own the trip outright, at least in terms of my own life,
it is only a partial claim, for I am left outside the daily life of this world. So now
I am beginning to question the power, the usefulness, of living a life based on saying
"no." Such a "no" seems to be divisive, separating me from people and events in the
name of being "right." The "yes" that I am discovering, not just in words, but deep
in my bones, is a basis for living that all the "no"-based victories in the world
cannot equal. If there is one "no" I am increasingly saying, it is to those parts
of me which keep me from living and loving more fully.
Want to comment? Send email to Dr. Etscovitz at hmdm@voicenet.com.
|